


When History Repeats

by Rising_Eagle (Robin_Mask)



Series: A Kingdom Divided [2]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Incest, Adoption, Cousin Incest, Discussion of Abortion, M/M, Mpreg, One Shot, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 04:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13516752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Mask/pseuds/Rising_Eagle
Summary: It was a forbidden love.Helblindi knew that nothing could come from their union, but still he yearned for something more. It was a well-kept secret, one that brought only pleasure to both parties, but fate had a way of intervening with what was so perfect. A new generation grew forth from the old, and - from them - history threatened to repeat itself.





	When History Repeats

It was forbidden.

Helblindi knew better, even as he wandered the courtyard. The stone pots were cracked and white with ice, while a few broken branches stood like dry sticks from solid soil, and – as his footsteps crunched down on fresh snow – he kicked at a few stray rocks. The lights from the palace stood prominent in his vision, as he glanced upward to Býleistr’s room. Icicles dangled from the balcony, while curtains fluttered with the breeze, but no sign of his brother could be witnessed. Helblindi looked down and let his nostrils flare.

A crunch of ice echoed behind him. He turned to see Býleistr.

Býleistr stood like any Jotun, with no hint to his Asgardian heritage, with eyes so red and emotive that they betrayed every thought and emotion, so that Helblindi could see – along with the darkening to his blue skin – the extent of his desire. He stood tall, although shorter than most of their kind. Scars littered his bared skin, where only a leather skirt kept his modesty, and he crossed his arms as he looked to Helblindi and said:

“You thought I would not come.”  

Helblindi laughed and pulled his fur cape closer. He strode forward and stopped a few inches from Býleistr, where he looked upward and quirked his neck just slightly, so that he could be sure the long column was on blatant display for any roving eyes. Helblindi ran a hand all-too-innocently over his neck and shoulder, as he sighed and fluttered his eyes, while loosening his cape as if he sought to evade the horrendous heat. Býleistr let out a long hiss of breath and took a step back, while Helblindi huffed and stood normally, as he finally asked:

“If I thought that, would I be here?”

“You are here for a wishful desire, Helblindi.”

“Do no wishes come true in this wasteland?” Helblindi smirked with a shrug. “Do you not remember our lessons? Do you forget the paintings? This was once a land filled with beauty, as it thrived with unique and wondrous architecture and wildlife, and yet here we are in this barren and desolate existence. No, perhaps wishes are not enough. What we need are plans.”

“So you wish for me to plan with you?” Býleistr scoffed. “I can act as your advisor, but you know as well as I that two brothers cannot rule together. Father lost one son with Loki, so to lose his sons would condemn our line and leaves our throne unoccupied.”

“Very well, then we do not allow him to lose his sons.”

“You think he would not uncover this secret?”

Helblindi frowned, as he looked to Laufey’s window. The intimidating figure stood on the balcony with hands pressed to the stone rails, and – as he looked down with red eyes – Helblindi let out a laugh and waved to Laufey with a wink. The growl from Laufey was audible, but still he remained fixed in place without moving his eyes away from them, even as his lip curled and his head lowered. Helblindi turned with a smirk to Býleistr, while ushering him further down the courtyard to a far wall where the shadows would hide them.

“I can keep a secret,” said Helblindi. “Can you?”

Helblindi leaned against the wall. He pushed back a lock of black hair, while his green-and-red eyes looked Býleistr over, and he knew that their father watched them even as they sought for distance, either from protective pride or paranoid self-preservation. There were times when Helblindi suspected both. Býleistr licked at his lips and stood tall, while his expression barely moved aside from a slight dilation to his pupils. Býleistr said:

“I can if I find it worth the risk.”

It took all Helblindi’s strength not to laugh, as he ran a hand over his mouth. He pressed his lips into a tight line, while he observed Býleistr’s expression and calculated just how far he could push him into action, and – with a cock of his head – shrugged and stroked at his throat in a manner almost innocent. Býleistr followed his every movement. It was a sign that the temptation was ever present, but the thing about temptation . . . everyone had a limit. Helblindi stepped closer and nodded toward Laufey with a smirk, as he asked:

“Am I not worth the risk?”

“What can we get from each other, Helblindi?” Býleistr sighed. “We can socialise, we can hunt, we can study . . . all that we lack is a sexual union, but even that we could get elsewhere if we do desired. I have no desire to go from a prince to a pauper.”

“One day I will be your king. One day soon. Trust your king.”

“You are no king of mine, Helblindi. Not yet.”

Helblindi gave an exaggerated sigh; he stretched his arms high above his head, while he arched his back and extended his neck, and fluttered his eyelashes at Býleistr, who stepped back again with a dark glare and a hiss of breath. Býleistr glanced back again toward the balcony, where Laufey watched with an indifferent gaze, and – with a laugh – Helblindi reached out to slap Býleistr’s cheek in a light-hearted manner. He turned his back on Býleistr and shrugged, before he marched toward the doors and called out:

“As I say, I have plans.”

* * *

“We will get caught,” whispered Býleistr.

Helblindi laughed, as he sat astride Býleistr. The bedroom doors remained unlocked, while the balcony doors remained flung wide open, and – as a bitter wind blew in to chill his skin – Helblindi tossed his long locks of black hair over his shoulder. He writhed on Býleistr. The hard erection pressed itself between his buttocks, where his natural lubrication leaked out and merged with the pre-come, and he placed a hand on either side of Býleistr’s head.

A long sigh escaped his lips; Býleistr took a hold of his hips, with hands so rough and cold that they provided a great deal of comfort to warm skin, and he looked through half-lidded eyes to see the blown pupils of Býleistr. Helblindi chuckled and leaned down to peck at plump lips, tugging them between his teeth and licking at the growing bruises. He caught the taste of honey . . . berries, mead, fresh bread . . . Býleistr had dined on imported foods, with the scents still lingering on his Jotun skin. Helblindi groaned out:

“In the past five years, we have not been caught yet.”

“‘Yet’ being the operative word.”

“Must I reveal my secrets _to_ my secret?” Helblindi teased. “Father is away on a diplomatic mission, while I have paid off the guards to ignore any noise, and – to be sure – I came to your room under the guise of Agnar. You gave him the eye, did you not? It is no secret that you have feelings for that _commoner_. Are they as strong as those for me?”

“What we have is forbidden,” spat Býleistr. “I may not love Agnar as much as you, but I can be happier with him . . . we can be public, we can marry, we can feel no shame . . . if you are jealous and would rather I warm his bed exclusively, that can be arranged.”

“I would rather personally _make_ you forget him.”

Býleistr let out a low growl. Helblindi smirked and relaxed his body, which made it all the easier for Býleistr to take control and flip him over, and – as Býleistr sat astride him – he wore an impossible smile that spoke of great pride. It would have been easier to wipe that smile from his lips, but instead Helblindi reclined and threw his hands high above his head, so that Býleistr would grab his wrists and lock them in place . . . the illusion of control.

He parted his legs, while Býleistr settled between them. Býleistr pressed a hand to his throat, while red eyes narrowed and lips curled, and it took all of Helblindi’s strength not to roll his eyes, as he feigned a gasp and widened his eyes with parted lips. The smirk that Býleistr wore was handsome and sincere. It forced Helblindi to press his lips into a tight line, as he strove to hold back laughter, and wrapped his legs around a firm and muscled waist, so that he could coax Býleistr closer and enjoy how that erection pressed against him.

They lay against one another in silence. Helblindi locked eyes with Býleistr and licked his lips, while he mewled and writhed much as Býleistr enjoyed, and then – with a growl and curl of his lips – Býleistr reached down with a free hand. He pressed the head of his erection to Helblindi’s well-prepared hold and pressed inside, moving slowly until his balls finally slapped against well-toned buttocks. Helblindi gasped as Býleistr said in a gasp:

“How will you make me forget? A spell?”

Helblindi pressed the heel of his feet underneath Býleistr’s buttocks. He pulled him every deeper inside, before pulling out of those strong hands, and – with a growl – threw his arms around Býleistr’s neck to pull him impossibly close. The breath on his lips was warm and damp, while their eyes met so that nothing else could be seen, and Helblindi forced Býleistr closer so that he could deliver a passionate kiss. Helblindi pulled away only when breathless, so he could deliver a series of bites over that muscled neck, and spat out:  

“Do you think me so common?”

“I love you, Hel, but this is forbidden!” Býleistr pulled out and thrust inside. “Do you think we could bear a healthy heir with our blood so closely related? Do you think we could ever hold hands or dance together without being disowned or executed? This –”

“No. Do not ruin the mood. _This_ is perfection.”

“This can never be more.”

Helblindi growled out in frustration. He took control one again, flipping them over until Býleistr landed flat on his back, and – repositioning his erection – sank down to the hilt, as he clenched his inner walls and rode Býleistr with full force. He raked nails down that bare chest, determined to leave lines that all others would see, and held his hand over Býleistr’s neck with enough force to leave bruises even as he allowed a small amount of breath. The arousal coursed through him. The pleasure was immense. He swore in a deep voice:

“Like I say, I will _make_ you forget Agnar.”

* * *

Helblindi set down the goblet.

It glistened in the ceremonial room. The moonlight shone from the windows above, casting an array of lights from the pewter, and – with a smile – he adjusted the goblet so that it sat perfectly in the intended stone of the pillar. Helblindi reluctantly pulled his hand away, although his eyes travelled about the room from statue to statue, as he took in the eyes of his ancestors and blinked away tears, as if their shame emanated from beyond the graves.

He pulled the knife from the folds of his coat, where he placed it beside the goblet. It was especially forged by Býleistr, due to be used in upcoming ceremonies with nobles, but – for now – it was a virgin blade of a curved and wavy design. The runes inscribed were in imitation of a far older blade, designed to replace one that Laufey wanted put aside for a museum on the other side of their realm, and eternal hope was to continue traditions while equally preserving them. Helblindi looked to Býleistr and whispered:

“This cannot be undone.”

Helblindi took the blade in hand. It was heavy to hold, as well as Jotun in style, and – dressed in furs and leather – he felt almost unworthy to hold something so symbolic of their race, especially to see Býleistr clad only in minimal Jotun attire. He pressed the blade to the inside of his palm, where he breathed deep and allowed the pain to ground him. A bead of blood rose with the pressure. Helblindi blinked away tears and sliced downward, before holding his hand over the goblet and letting the blood collect into the pewter below.

The pain was sharp and searing, like a thousand needles pressed into sore flesh, and – as he cursed – it throbbed in time with his pulse. He struggled to fight the desire to apply pressure, but the wound quickly clotted and the blood soon slowed, and he looked to Býleistr opposite who watched with an impassive gaze. Helblindi handed him the knife with hilt pointed outward, which Býleistr took with a heavy hiss of breath. Helblindi said with a smile:

“It is not legally binding.”

“The scar will always remain,” chided Býleistr. “You cannot marry any other person while that mark is present on your palm, while the mark itself will carry no meaning unless we out ourselves and risk the punishment for an incestuous union. This -? It will only hinder us, while all we get is the knowledge our souls have been bound for this lifetime.”

“Is that not enough for you?” Helblindi asked. “Or does Agnar –?”

“He knows about us.” Býleistr bit into his lip. “He loves me enough to still wish to be with me, happy to play second-choice to my true love, and I _hate_ myself for so badly treating him, knowing every time I am with you that he waits for me, ever loyal . . .”

“We do not have to do this. I do not wish for you to suffer.”

“I suffer every day I must warm another’s bed.”

Býleistr cut into his palm. He held his hand over the goblet, where the blood collected with that already pooled inside, and – as he watched with watery eyes – Helblindi noted the slight tremble to his lip, so unusual for one so scarred from battle. They kept their hands above the goblet, just half-and-inch apart, where the coolness of Býleistr’s skin provided a comfort against the heat from Helblindi. They locked eyes, where Helblindi blinked in surprise to see tears forming over that familiar red. A tear fell down ridged cheeks.

Býleistr grabbed at his hand, pressing their palms together, while tears ran and ran until his lips shimmered in the moonlight, and – with a broken laugh – he used his other hand to surround Helblindi’s and press their wounds ever closer. The knife lay between them on the pedestal, stained red with blood, and Helblindi swallowed hard to realise that this was an action that could never be undone. They belonged to each other. Býleistr swore:

“Let this mark prove my loyalty to you.”

Helblindi let his hand linger in the air, even as Býleistr pulled away to reach for the goblet, and – with one large swig – he drank the blood and placed what was left back onto the pedestal, where reddened lips smiled and parted. He looked handsome, even through his emotional turmoil. Helblindi reached absently toward the goblet . . . it was still slightly warmer than room temperature, as if it held memory of the warmer skin of Býleistr . . . he swirled what was left of the contents and breathed deep the metallic spell. Helblindi declared:

“I vow to remain faithful and keep fidelity to my beloved.”

“I vow to love you always,” whispered Býleistr.

* * *

Agnar was handsome.

Helblindi leaned against the pillar. The glass in his hand was cold with ice, so that condensation appeared on its outside, and – with every swirl and every sip – the ice clinked on the edges and provided a momentary distraction. He narrowed his eyes as he observed the party at hand, where Agnar stood on the edges with a well-feigned innocence, as he lowered his head and spoke meekly to any high-stationed male that came his way, and even Laufey appeared taken by him, although clearly alert to the manipulation at play.

It was clear that Agnar was as timid as Helblindi was weak, both being clear acts designed to create a façade that aided both men through life, and yet it was _that_ façade that Býleistr so enjoyed, and _that_ act that enticed him to a warm bed. Helblindi raised his hand to dismiss all servants that came in his direction, while he apologised to every noble that sought to flirt or debate or pass time. He almost ignored Býleistr as he wandered over to chide:

“Could you glare any harder?”

“I could, but it caused immense eyestrain.”

Býleistr sighed and handed Helblindi a large mug. The inside was filled with some form of ale, as if alcohol would make a difference, and – with a roll of his eyes – he handed back the yellowish liquid and muttered that he would rather wine should he be forced to drink. He sipped at his water, while Býleistr pinched the bridge of his nose and glared down at the tiled floor with hard eyes. The music raged on and on, with repetitive refrains of rather irksome tune raged ever onward, until Býleistr spat out in a cold voice:

“He is a good man.”

“No, he is _your_ man,” spat Helblindi. “I have rejected every suitor that Father threw my way, and even now – after we _know_ Loki to be alive – I still continue to reject all suitors . . . I could have any man on this planet, but instead I stand here watching you dance and laugh and kiss some farmer’s son in plain view of all the court. He lacks all social standing.”

“Aye, but he has passion.” Býleistr shrugged. “He strives to rise above his station, but with morals and ethics. He will not kill as Loki kills. He will not manipulate as you manipulate. I admire him for his character and kindness, as well as his built physique.”

“Is that why you love him more than me?”

“It is why I seek to one day raise a family with him. Helblindi, I will always love you more, but you cannot provide me with the things that I wish . . . Agnar can provide me with everything, just as I can give him the social standing he craves, and it is a mutually beneficial relationship, especially when we do feel love for one another.”

Helblindi turned and gripped his glass. The temptation was to throw the drink in Býleistr’s face, as well as to force him against a wall and ride him until he was spent, but – through his equal rage and lust – he retained a last shred of self-control. Helblindi thought instead to Loki . . . proven to be the same son stolen from their realm, no longer believed to be a namesake of the lost child . . . it would be possible to play Laufey as Loki sought to play him, using Loki’s ambitions to aid his in turn. Býleistr grabbed at his arm and spat:

“Do you truly not understand?”

The grip was hard enough to bruise. The water and ice sloshed over his glass. Helblindi allowed Býleistr the moment of ‘control’, but stepped into his personal space to lock eyes with the man that towered over him. He smirked, while his eyes watered and skin flushed dark, and slid the glass of water into the hands of a passing noble. Helblindi reached out to grip onto the belt of Býleistr’s leather skirt and leaned in to whisper against his ear:

“I have never been with any other man.”

“I would not begrudge you should you seek pleasure elsewhere,” replied Býleistr. “You could have a family in turn, perhaps arrange a marriage between your offspring and whatever spare Thor brings forth, uniting our realms as you so plan. I just. . . I want you to be happy.”

“I am to be happy with another that is not you?”

Býleistr let go of Helblindi’s hand, so that he could snatch at a small wrist, and – yanking his hand up high – red eyes locked onto the familiar scar on his palm. Helblindi wrenched his hand back with a snarl and folded his arms across a chest clad in leather, as he looked Býleistr up and down, and walked away with head held high and hand clenched into a tight fist. He listened carefully to the mutters of ‘sibling rivalry’ and ‘children unfit to rule’ from those whose ages were beyond that of even Laufey. Býleistr called out after him:

“What choice do you have?”

* * *

“Please, tell me you are lying.”

Helblindi winced. A painting of Laufey sat on a far wall, where those piercing eyes watched him with such intensity that he grew afraid that the dead judged him for his actions, and – as he sat onto a chair carved from ice . . . Býleistr continued to pace back and forth. He wore a sneer that was cold and dangerous, while hands clenched and unclenched with every wild gesture he made, and his eyes moved rapidly from place to place. He was uncontrollable.

The medical records lined the table, all signed by one sole healer. Helblindi leaned back in his chair and looked up to the murals on the ceiling, where he strove hard to stay awake after midnight appointments long after all other healers left, and – as he glanced to the paperwork – he wondered if enough money had been paid to guarantee silence. A few images were immortalised with state-of-the-art technology, while several leaflets were used as coasters for cups of crushed ice. Helblindi sighed and placed a hand to his stomach.

It was a small swell. The two months showed well on his flesh, already a third through the pregnancy according to Jotun biology, and yet his furred attire hid all evidence of the unborn child from sight. He made a mental note to adjust his fashion, perhaps playing to his Asgardian heritage as a need for warmth, while he added up other various costs to buy silence from those whose knowledge would be unavoidable. Helblindi closed his eyes.

“We always use protection,” accused Býleistr.

“No, _I_ always use protection,” spat Helblindi. “The healer told me that sickness can interfere with how effective contraception acts; Móði brought with him a stomach flu from Asgard, I spent several days unable to keep my digestive system in check, and – as such – he believes the contraceptive medicine was rendered ineffective. I am pregnant.”

“Does he know that I am the father?”

“No. I lied to him.” Helblindi shrugged. “I told him I had an affair with Geir. You remember him, do you not? He serves as my ambassador, while his husband acts as a diplomat of some sort. He agreed that I could use him for a cover story. I will pay a substantial sum to them, while they shall swear under oath that he is the father should I keep this child, but I thought that unnecessary . . . I _cannot_ bear this child forth.”

Býleistr wrung his hands in the air, before he dropped down opposite Helblindi. He sat on the edge of the chair, even as the bed lay not far beyond them, and the wrinkled sheets – stained with sweat and semen – did little to ease his temperament. Býleistr spread his legs and clasped his hands between them, while he tapped his foot to some irregular rhythm, and Helblindi could only watch through half-lidded eyes . . . pretending not to look, pretending not to listen – as he sought to analyse the situation at hand.

He struggled to slow his racing heart, while a horrid sweat broke at key points over his body, and – as he gave a trembling smile – he looked to Býleistr and hoped for some form of reassurance, desperately seeking for some visual sign that this may be fine. Býleistr remained ever silent, but he ran his hands over his face and slapped them down on bare legs. The room remained ever silent. Only Helblindi’s beating pulse broke the quiet. Býleistr observed:

“It would be a political disaster.”

“You mean to tell Loki that his heir of Jotunheim is no longer heir?” Helblindi laughed. “If you have children with Agnar, there is no law saying I must choose them over Loki’s offspring, but if I – _the firstborn_ – have a child -? No, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Still, that _pales_ in comparison to the fact that this child would be borne from incest.”

“Shit! Do you think there could be genetic abnormalities? I – I do not want to be ‘uncle’ to my own child, Helblindi. I do not want to see them suffer with disabilities as our genetics are too closely related. We cannot . . . we cannot let this child be born.”

“I knew you would say that.”

“You will be _executed_ to bring forth a child borne of incest!” Býleistr winced. “You may change Father’s laws gradually over time, just as you planned, but you have not changed those laws yet and you are still subject to them. Our kings have always been more highly punished than any other subject, as we are to be role-models for our people.”

Helblindi stood and walked to the windows. The snow swept over the panes of glass, while far beyond he could make out the various sites of construction, and – with a sigh – he reached out to touch the glass with a trembling hand. There were many roads being developed, while areas were being developed for agriculture best suited to their climate, and yet a small area was preserved as a ‘nature reserve’, so that young people could hunt and camp and play. It brought a smile to his lips to think how Móði and Magni might one day visit there.

“I have a plan,” muttered Helblindi. “I always have a plan.”

“So you will abort the child?”

“It is like you say: what choice do I have?”

Helblindi placed a hand over his stomach. A tear rolled down his cheek, as he smiled despite the situation at hand, and yet kept his eyes fixated on a distant cave still in view, where various wild animals wandered the area. He gripped harder on the bulge of skin, where he closed his eyes and swore to avoid physical relations for some time to come. This was a mistake that could be repeated. Helblindi said through shaking lips:

“Give me time to grieve, please.”

* * *

“It is done,” swore Helblindi.

Helblindi leaned awkwardly against the doorframe. He swayed where he stood, blue cheeks pale and black bags heavy under his eyes, and – as he struggled to focus his eyes – he saw Býleistr race toward him, with arms extended and lips parted . . . hands on his arms . . . guided to the bed. The slab of ice was hard beneath him, softened only with furs, and he struggled to lie without a wince and a roll of his head to the side.

A tear ran down Býleistr’s cheek, while the sole doctor whispered that the papers would be signed, and – officially – it would be marked as a miscarriage. Helblindi laughed despite the situation, as he clenched at his stomach and looked to the doctor . . . he nodded to him, patted his pocket, and left the paperwork on the table . . .  Býleistr looked to him again. The tears ran down his face, while the doctor slipped out of the room with his head low. Býleistr wept and came to his side. He took Helblindi’s clammy hands and held tight. 

“I am so sorry,” whispered Býleistr. “I am sorry.”

Helblindi drew the furs about his stomach, where his clothing bunched about him, and – with eyes shimmering with tears – reached out to touch Býleistr’s cheek, where he wiped away the tears and gently patted the bed beside him. Býleistr crawled onto the ice. He pulled Helblindi close against him, carefully avoiding touching his stomach and buttocks, but otherwise explored his body as if to make certain he was safe. Helblindi closed his eyes, while his lips trembled and he struggled to see through tears. He whispered in a cold voice:

“It is better this way.”

 

* * *

Helblindi grew faint.

The room spun around him . . . _bedroom doors locked, bloodstained sheets piled for burning, paperwork scattered across tables_. . . the pain gnawed at his stomach, less than before and yet intense . . . it throbbed . . . it burned. A part of him craved Býleistr, but he was cast away into Asgard for an ‘important’ matter. The guards were dismissed. Helblindi felt the magic about his room shake and tremble, just as he shook and trembled, and soon the wards would fade and the sound-proofing would vanish. He no longer needed to scream.

It was difficult to breathe. It was difficult to stay conscious. The room reeked of blood, while his voice was hoarse from his cries, and the entire process fatigued him . . . the doctor was unable to access many medicines, unable to explain their absence . . . Helblindi laughed as tears streamed down his face. Geir stood beside the bed. He held a cloth filled with broken ice in hand, as he pressed it to Helblindi’s forehead and muttered congratulations.

A loud cry issued forth from across the bedroom. Helblindi struggled to focus his gaze, while a young baby was brought across the room and slid into Geir’s arms, and – with a laugh of pleasure – Geir wept and placed dozens of kisses to tiny cheeks. The baby looked Jotun. It inherited the best of Býleistr, although a few green flecks to his eyes betrayed his Asgardian heritage, and Helblindi reached out with a trembling hand . . . cold cheeks, cold hands . . . he would pass as a Jotun. He would pass. Helblindi sobbed and looked to Geir.

“Do not tell anyone,” whispered Helblindi.

Geir could not rip his eyes from the child. He laughed whenever the baby yawned, while he gasped in fear whenever he stilled for more than a few seconds, and – as he tried to push the baby into Helblindi’s arms – Helblindi shook his head and sobbed all the harder. He swore to memories the marks just like Býleistr, as well as the feel to his natural seiðr, but he forced himself to roll away, back to the babe, lest he grow attached in the process. The doctor tended to him below, prodding and poking and prying, while Geir whispered:

“I shall raise him as my son. I swear.”

“Your husband -?”

“Off-planet for the past four months,” said Geir. “We have struggled to conceive for so long, that this . . . this is a true blessing! He left as soon as you uncovered the pregnancy, so that – when he returns tonight – I shall be there to greet him and we shall reveal to the world our newborn son, born off-planet. No one shall ever know.”

“Not even Bylesteir? Swear to me. Swear.”

“I swear, my king. I swear.”

Helblindi smiled through his tears. He was rolled onto his back by the healer, whose hands were in a place previously only ever touched by Býleistr, and – with a loud curse – informed him that the ‘afterbirth’ was soon on its way to being delivered. Helblindi thought only to the necessary certificates that would be needed, as well the few guards that would need to be paid off that might otherwise see Geir and the babe before that point. He waved a hand absently in the air, as he slowly drifted off into a heavy sleep, and murmured out:

“Forge all paperwork for Geir’s new son.”

* * *

The doors slammed.

Býleistr filled the entire doorway. He stood with chest heaving with panted breaths, while his thick lips pulled back into a pronounced curl, and – with hands clenched into tight fists – he glared toward Helblindi with narrowed eyes. The office was cold, even by Jotun standards. It brought goosebumps to Helblindi’s skin, as he slowly stood behind his desk and raised his hands in a gesture of mock-surrender, and walked toward Býleistr with a sigh.

Helblindi opened his mouth to ease the situation.

He stopped when Býleistr marched forward. A hand was raised, with a meaty finger pointed directly at him, and – with a nervous smile – Helblindi stumbled backward and kept his hands outward in an attempt to force Býleistr at bay. He mentally calculated the seconds it would take to grab the daggers hidden behind his back, or for the guards to be called into his office, or even to force Býleistr into submission. Every breath was audible. Every pulse echoed in his ears. Helblindi soon struck the far wall, where Býleistr finally cornered him.

Helblindi let out a staggered breath, as he tried again to talk, but a piece of paper was soon shoved into his face. It struck him with such force that his head snapped to the side. He felt his cheek pressed to cold stone wall, while his cheek ached and his neck audibly cracked, and – as Býleistr growled and stepped back – Helblindi barely had time to catch the now wrinkled and torn paper. He glared back at Býleistr and smoothed his furs. Býleistr spat:

“Do you know what that is?”

The paper was rough and thick, made from local materials and clearly not imported, and it was the sort of papyrus given to school children, as Helblindi knew well enough from feigning interest in his three nephews and one niece over the years. The drawing featured two Jotun men and one small boy, while the snowy backdrop featured the palace and inner city, and Helblindi – as he fought back a wince – smiled as if he were sincere in his emotions, as he carefully handed the paper back to Býleistr. He chirped out in a loud voice:

“Steinn draws well for his age.”

“Steinn did _not_ draw that,” spat Býleistr. “Do you know who did draw that? Fannar. Fannar Geirson fucking drew that picture of his family . . . his _supposed_ family. Do you know I defended you? Agnar came to me and told me that there was a boy in our son’s class, one who looked _exactly_ like me, and that he was born off-planet to Geir’s spouse.”

“Is that what Agnar said? He knows well the business of Geir.”

“He thought maybe you lied about the abortion.” Býleistr hissed with heavy breath. “He mentioned how Fannar would have been the _exact_ age that our son would have been, just as he mentioned a convenient raise in Geir’s wages around the time of his birth, and how – again – only one healer . . . _just one_. . . could sign as witness to Fannar’s birth, as he was born off-planet on a diplomatic mission. I thought I would visit the school.”

Helblindi pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked out the window, where he saw the training yards where a group of soldiers fought, and – beyond that – the nursery where many of the upper classes placed their young during their working hours. Helblindi knew the records to the nursery by heart, but his assumption had been that Býleistr’s visit was strictly as a parent seeking to make certain of safe environmental conditions. He cursed himself. It was a rookie mistake to make any form of assumption. He glared toward the nursery.

“Oh,” said Helblindi.

“Oh? _Oh_? That is all you have to say?”

Býleistr paced back and forth, as he pushed his thumbs into his eyes. Helblindi swallowed hard and drew in a deep breath, while he carefully clasped his hands behind his back and pressed his palms in the small gap between dagger hilts and muscled back. He grabbed at the hilts. He let his cape fall about him to block his actions from sight. Býleistr rounded on him and jabbed a finger into his chest, hard enough to leave a bruise as he called out:

 “You _lied_ to me, Helblindi. You _betrayed_ me with this –”

“I betrayed you?” Helblindi laughed long and deep. “You are the one sleeping with someone else! You live with him. You have a child with him. Do you not consider that a betrayal? I could not abort the _only child I will ever have_ , Býleistr! You . . . Loki . . . you both have your children, but where is mine? I cannot and will not sleep with another.”

“You lied to me, Helblindi. He is my son and –”

“The laws would have demanded my execution,” spat Helblindi. “If we could have avoided that, would we have avoided war by denying Loki his political advantage and declaring a new heir in his son’s stead? No. You have Stein. Loki has Magni, Móði, and even Thrúd. I have –”

“Nothing. You have _nothing_. Fannar is Geir’s.”

Býleistr screwed up the drawing. He threw it directly at Helblindi, where it struck him on his forehead, and Helblindi clenched his hands ever tighter onto the hilts . . .   _knuckles turned white, fingers ached, Býleistr left his vital points exposed . . ._ he bit into his lip. Helblindi glanced down to the paper, where a badly drawn version of Fannar peeked out from stray corner, and he narrowed his eyes and let the lines deepen with the force _._

There was a murmur of noise from outside the doors, as the guards debated whether the argument was a ‘family squabble’ or a ‘security threat’, and Helblindi smirked to know that a single word would be enough to silence Býleistr. The power was in his hands, no matter what Býleistr believed. Helblindi let go of his daggers. He brought his hands forward in a gesture of surrender, as he stepped closer to Býleistr with one foot slowly before the other, as if walking an invisible line. He feigned an expression of contrition, as Býleistr begged:

“If I come forward now –”

“The crown would fall to Loki,” admitted Helblindi. “I would be removed as king for my breaking of the law, assuming I am not executed according to the laws at the time of conception, and you would likely be exiled for having corrupted a leader and brought about such political upheaval. Do you think this Asgard? We are not Loki and Thor. We have no future. Loki would either act as king until Fannar came of age or he would gain full rule.”

“We cannot have Loki as ruler.” Býleistr blinked away tears and sighed. “Laufey allowed our people to survive, but you are what gave our people life. If Thor gives us back the Winter Casket as promised -? We could thrive as we have never before thrived. Loki would rule as dictator and subject our people to practical slavery, simply out of spite.”

“There was no way that I could have kept Fanner. If I had claimed him the product of myself and Geir, as I first considered, we would still anger Loki by usurping his heir with mine, especially as he always suspected us and believed there would be no heir.”

“Fannar deserves to know who he is, Helblindi.”

Helblindi reached out to touch on Býleistr’s neck. He traced light fingers over his pulse, while he craned his neck upward and pressed against him, so that they were chest-to-chest and close enough to exchange breaths. It was a submissive pose, while Býleistr always came undone with stimulus to his pressure points. Helblindi continued to smile, as if trying to coax Býleistr into a more receptive mood, but the memories of the past four years were strong . . . _watching Fannar laugh and cry, seeing another tend to his needs, never able to intervene . . ._

He remembered hearing about Fannar’s first steps. He remembered hearing about Fannar’s first words. Each and every milestone was one to which Helblindi was absent, while Býleistr was always so able to brag about Steinn and Loki about his three children. Helblindi hardened his gaze and stepped back with a curl of his lip, as he looked Býleistr over and stepped back with his hand falling to his side. He spat out in a cold voice: 

“Fine, then _you_ tell him.”

Býleistr cried. The tears ran down his face, as he raised his hands to tent before his face, and shook his head over and over with a broken smile, as he eventually let out a nervous laugh and stabbed his finger toward Helblindi with a threatening force. Helblindi held back the urge to roll his eyes, as he headed back to his desk and resumed his paperwork. The words blurred before him. They merged into one mess of text. He moved his pen as if he could concentrate, unable to lose face as Býleistr let out a choke breath and muttered:

“I will never forgive you for this.”

“Do you think I shall ever forgive myself?” Helblindi laughed. “You know me not. The truth is that we either risk ruining our people or gaining a son, and I would rather put the multitude before the needs of the individual. What say you, Brother? Do you disagree?”

“If you just aborted as you promised -? If you just thought –”

“What is done is done,” spat Helblindi.

Býleistr stormed over to the doors. He pressed his head to the cold wood, while he ran his hands over the smooth surface, and then – pulling back with a deep breath – he stood tall and squashed his tears at last. He sent a cold look to Helblindi; it chilled him to his core, while those teeth were bared with the snarl that escaped chapped lips. Býleistr spat on the floor. The saliva turned to ice almost at once, as he swung open the door and called out:

“No, _we’re_ done,” swore Býleistr.   

* * *

Helblindi dropped his glass.

It shattered across the tiles in an array of pieces. A servant ran from the sides of the hall, with a brush in hand ready to remove the remains, but – with a raised hand – the servant darted back into the darkness of the shadows and left it broken on the floor. Helblindi stood. The glass crunched under his feet, as water froze over the stone dais, and he cast his eyes between Magni and Fannar before him. It took all his self-control to keep his hand steady.

Magni stood in formal Asgardian attire, so that it would be impossible to tell his Jotun heritage, and yet – as he sneezed at some strange scent – he bore a confidence that spoke greatly of one that _belonged_ in Jotunheim. Fannar remained half-bowed at his side, where he was clad only in a pleated-leather skirt and wore various armlets, and while shorter than some Jotuns . . . he was so perfectly Jotun in form that not a single part of Helblindi showed. It was enough to break his heart, as his pulse pounded in his ears. He continued to stare at Fannar.

“I expected a different reaction,” teased Magni.

Helblindi rapidly blinked. He looked away at last, as he stepped down the dais toward them, and – with each step – he realised that the resemblance to Býleistr had not decreased over the years, so that he feared how anyone could miss the truth. Helblindi smiled and cast his eye to Magni; blond hair fell about pale skin, while blue eyes shimmer with nervous unshed tears, and Helblindi reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. The warm furs were fashionable in nature, while the plates of armour would fully protect him. Helblindi asked:

“Does your father know you are dating a Jotun?”

“You mean Loki?” Magni shrugged.

“Is that a ‘no’, Nephew?” Helblindi drew in a deep breath. “You must know that he will likely object to this union. You are under no obligation to marry one of our kind, while you have such skill and power that you could have any man you so chose.”

Magni shrugged once more, but this time took Fannar’s hand. He interlocked their fingers and stepped closer to him, while Fannar – cheeks darkened with a blush – smiled to look at him in turn, and together they simply stood with eyes locked on one another. The smile that played on Magni’s lips was sincere, borne out of genuine love, and he even angled his body towards Fannar with a slight chuckle and reached out to hug his arm. Magni whispered:

“I choose Fannar Geirson.”

There was a small titter from the guards. Helblindi ran a hand over his face, as he looked to them and saw them instantly straighten, and – much to his dismay – he knew that they considered the declaration ‘romantic’. Helblindi bit into his lip until he tasted iron, but soon forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He bowed low and deep to Fannar. Fannar stumbled back a step, visible in his peripheral vision, and Helblindi held back a sigh to listen to Fannar fumble over his words, clearly uneasy before a king.

“Then I fully support you,” lied Helblindi.

* * *

“You told Magni that you _support_ him?”

Býleistr sat on a far bench. The garden flourished with various plant-life native to their climate, as well as some carefully selected from realms with similar climes, and the snow was swept away daily by those who tended to the gardens. Helblindi glanced up to the balconies where the royal rooms stood in clear view, and there he saw familiar faces . . . Agnar washed his face in one room, while Magni danced with Fannar in another . . . Helblindi sighed and slid next to Býleistr, as he asked in a low and quiet whisper:

“What else was I to do?”

“Forbid the union,” spat Býleistr. “What else?”

Helblindi rolled his eyes and nudged Býleistr. He nodded to one of the balconies, where Fannar dipped Magni and paused with him held midair, and – as their eyes locked on one another – a hand came around that blue neck, while lips met and soon the curtains were closed. Magni would grow cold once the act was completed. He would freeze on beds made from ice, while the snowy wind would blow from the open balcony doors. Helblindi asked:

“You have forgotten the allure of the forbidden?”

Býleistr laughed, as he ran a hand over his face. Móði and Steinn argued not far from them, each one louder in every reply, and Thrúd could be heard from the training yard, where she and Vigdís defeated every opponent with a terrifying ease. The world moved on around them, even as the laughter ran cold on Býleistr’s lips, and soon the realisation dawned on both that this was a serious issue, one that would not go away without great consideration.

The wind picked up speed, blowing with it a great deal of snow, and – as the flakes gathered and danced on the air – Helblindi slid his hand a little closer along the stone bench, where Býleistr did the same in turn. The small touch of their fingertips sent a spark through Helblindi, as he longed to hold onto that hand for support. A hint of music flowed out from the main hall, while nobles gossiped and servants complained, and time appeared to stand still for them. Býleistr broke the moment with a muttered:

“If this relationship lasts –”

“Magni is the son of two cousins,” said Helblindi. “He would be marrying his cousin in turn, who is also the son of two brothers. The family tree is so tangled at this point that I would need a pair of tree shearers to untangle that mess. I know how wrong the situation stands.”

“So you would allow it to continue?”

“Do you not remember your first crush? I am a hopeless romantic; you were my first and my last and my only, but I am aware that most others are not like me. It is not unusual to have multiple lovers over a lifetime, with this being expected in some cultures, and I am aware that young love hits hard and fades fast. Magni is eighteen. By the time he hits eighty -?”

“I suppose you are correct.” Býleistr let out a shuddered breath. “How old was Father when he met Mother? Three thousand? Four thousand? On the other hand, I do hear that Uncle Odin was a childhood sweetheart of Queen Frigga. I have even heard it said that they experienced the love of no other, while his dying words were ‘my queen’. If this lasts between Fannar and Magni, what if they try and conceive? What if they run tests?”

Helblindi winced. He stood and shook his head, while he walked further into the garden and looked again to the balconies, and – as he caught Agnar’s eyes – he saw a look a mixture of pity and contempt, before the balcony doors were closed. The curtains fluttered from the adjacent balcony of Magni’s room, where shadows could be seen on the walls each time a gap appeared in the fabric, and the entangled mess of limbs made their actions clear. He struggled to fight back tears, as he knew that the relationship could not last. Helblindi said:

“I could come forward as his biological father.”

“Aye? He would then be heir,” said Býleistr. “Loki would seek to goad Thor into war, all for the slight of having another declared future king in Móði’s stead, and – even were he more lenient – he would instigate trade embargos and increase import taxes and – ”

“You think too far ahead. Besides . . . they could have a healthy baby.”

“What are the chances of that, Helblindi? Give me a statistic.”

Helblindi remained silent. Býleistr walked beside him, where he placed both hands on his shoulders and squeezed to provide a moment of comfort, and yet they both knew those same fingers would be lost inside Agnar before the night was over. A part of Helblindi longed for Magni to succeed where he long failed, but the genetic risks were far too high. Helblindi wrapped his arms around his chest, while he kept his head low and blinked away tears, and Býleistr stood so close that he could feel his chest against his back. Býleistr pleaded:

“Let us think of something else.”

* * *

“Móði has eloped.”

Thor ran a hand over his face. The patch over his right eye shimmered in the firelight, enough that it reminded Helblindi too much of Odin, and old images of the previous Allfather ran through his mind, while he sat opposite Thor before the bonfire. Thor sat in turn on a stone bench, while the bonfire raged ever onward inside the confines of the garden. He ran a hand through hair now short and shaved. Lines on his face marked the start of middle-age.

The garden was warmed by the flames, enough that the icicles on the balconies started to drip with clear water, and – with a smile – Helblindi grew ever more grateful for Thor’s presence, as it bore with it an excuse to enjoy higher temperatures. Thor grabbed a dry stick and poked at the bonfire, while muscled arms bulged beneath the heavy winter attire and thick furs, and Helblindi moved closer to better observe his expressions. Loki remained on Asgard. Magni feasted with Býleistr, Steinn, Agnar, and Fannar. The world went on. Helblindi asked:

“Eloped? You mean with Vigdís.”

Thor blinked. It was strange to watch with only one eye, but stranger to see him catch himself betray his surprise and mask his expression with a smile. The years were not kind to Thor, enough that even the loss of his father and the loss of his eye paled in comparison to the gain of a sister, and yet – with a soft chuckle – he shook his head and picked a mug of ale. He gulped at the liquid, while he mock toasted Helblindi and swirled its contents between parted legs, as he continued to poke and prod at the fire before him. The fuel crackled.

Helblindi lifted his mug in turn, where the iced water clacked against the pewter in an oddly rhythmic pattern, and sipped occasionally in order to break the silence, while he waited for Thor to collect his thoughts. A laugh echoed from some distant part of the gardens, while a clatter of plates hurt his ears sounding from the kitchens, and Thor smiled as he turned his head in the direction of the noises and chuckled. He asked in a quiet voice:

“You knew about his elopement?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere,” admitted Helblindi. “I know that I may play the part of a court jester, but I am every bit the king that my father was before me. Móði sent me word that he officially abdicated, while a spy of mine alerted me that his bride was Vigdís, daughter of Fandral. Steinn is quite relieved, as I doubt there was ever much love between them.”

“Steinn also never wanted to rule,” added Thor. “I recognised myself in his eyes; he believes that his duty is to protect his people, but that the best way to protect his people is to be among them than to rule above them. He would make a good consort for that reason.”

“A consort to whom, Thor? I have no heir.”

“Then make Steinn king.” Thor sipped at his mead. “Unless you would rather Magni serve as king of Jotunheim? I chose Thrúd as my heir, as she is most worthy of the throne, and Asgard has only ever asked for the bloodline to continue, but not demanded who should continue it, but I hear here the lines of succession are different. You could make Magni yours.”

Helblindi quirked an eyebrow and smirked in turn. The conversation veered close to what he expected, yet somehow Thor found ways to surprise him, and – for a moment – he suspected he heard a hint of Loki’s voice, as if the influence ran deeper over the years. Helblindi slid a hand onto Thor’s shoulder and squeezed, sending forth a jolt of _seiðr_ just to be certain that no illusion was in play, but Thor simply gave him a quizzical look in response.  Helblindi asked:

“What do you get out of this, Allfather?”

Thor stood and threw his stick onto the fire. He downed the very last of his mead, before he threw the mug down hard on the floor, and – with a barely concealed scoff – Helblindi rolled his eyes at the strange Asgardian custom. Thor placed both his hands on his hips, as he cast his eyes over the balconies above. Shadows played on the curtains to Magni’s room. Helblindi raised a hand to his nose and pinched at the bridge, while Thor shook his head and watched as two distinct shadows toasted to some private celebration.

“Truthfully?” Thor shrugged. “Magni’s happiness.”

“Magni would be happy as king?”

“Magni is in love with Fannar Geirson. On Asgard they would only suffer, as our people still endure some outdated prejudices and our climate is ill-suited to Fannar, but here they could truly be content and they could be open in their love. Fannar is a full-blooded Jotun, so you would still have a pure bloodline, and – as I say – Steinn never wished to be king.”

“Very well, but I have one condition,” said Helblindi. “I will make no arguments on this matter and will accept Magni without any conditions, but I want _one_ thing . . . Steinn will prove as surrogate to Magni’s firstborn child. He will be the genetic father.”

“This is a strange request, Helblindi. Will Fannar not do as father?”

“Humour me. Steinn is a prince in turn, after all.”

Thor turned to lock eyes with Helblindi. There was clear recognition there . . . he knew  . . . _he knew_. . . Helblindi swallowed hard and stood in turn, cursing Loki’s perceptiveness and his open communication with Thor, and yet Thor did not appear to condemn the relationship and understood the need to dilute the muddied bloodline. Thor pointed to the balcony and narrowed his eyes until lines deepened on his brow, and the half-smirk on his lips proved that he was all too shrewd as king and too protective as a father. Thor demanded:

“Fannar would be the one to _raise_ the child?”

“Of course,” said Helblindi. “Steinn would simply be the egg donor and living incubator, as he carries the child to term, and he will forfeit all legal rights. Fannar and Magni could bear any children they wish after the fact, but I wish for the heir of my heir to be Steinn’s blood. I will compensate Steinn so greatly that he will _beg_ for this honour, I promise you.”

Thor pursed his lips. He glanced back to the balcony where laughter grew in intensity, before the shadows gave way to a room completely darkened, and soon new sounds took place that brought a roll of the eyes, as Thor screamed up at them to close the balcony doors. A yelp followed. The doors slammed shut. Helblindi chuckled at the sudden silence, broken only by the bickering of two young lovers, and soon Thor spun around and offered forth a hand. Helblindi took it and shook with a knowing nod of his head.

“Deal,” swore Thor.

* * *

Helblindi stretched awake.

The furs fell from his frame, revealing his naked form. A blue hand rested on his stomach, while Býleistr murmured incoherently beside him, and – with a loud yawn – Helblindi cricked his back and gently extricated himself from Býleistr’s side. He noted that the block of ice was low enough to necessitate being replaced, as he picked at the stray pieces of clothing about the room. Býleistr stirred in the bed with a murmur of discontent.  

No words were exchanged. Helblindi simply tossed a leather skirt to Býleistr, as he gestured for him to change and dressed himself in turn, and neither made mention of Agnar who likely fell asleep waiting up for his partner to return, even as Býleistr warmed the bed of his brother just a few feet away. The scar on Býleistr’s hand brought a smile to Helblindi’s lips, as he lifted his hand in turn and looked to the raised mark, and yet the reality was that same love which bound them together was the same love to pry them apart. He winced.

Býleistr dressed quickly and marched to the _en suite_. The sound of running water echoed about the bedroom, enough to bring Helblindi to the doorway, and he watched as Býleistr gave himself a quick whore’s bath to wash away the scent of sex. The marks raked down his back would give away his affair to Agnar, as would the bruises on his hips, and Helblindi chuckled to think how so many branded Agnar a ‘sadist’ for such wounds. He asked softly:

“How does the pregnancy go?”

“Steinn is quite well,” muttered Býleistr.

“You do not sound content.” Helblindi laughed and folded his arms. “Magni and Fannar are married. Steinn is providing an heir not _too_ interbred. Steinn even has a husband that supports this surrogacy and plans to bring _you_ many heirs, once mine is delivered, and Loki remains content that one of _his_ sons shall rule Jotunheim. Is not all well?”

“You think too much with your head, Helblindi. You did well from a political standpoint, but one day Fannar and Magni will want _more_ children, just like our father and just like our uncle and just like our brother . . . what then? What if Fannar falls with child?”

“Our closely related genetics may have prevented that.”

“And if they have not? If they _can_ procreate?”

Helblindi watched Býleistr in the mirror. He saw the wide eyes and the trembling lip, just as he saw the pale skin and tension to his shoulders, and – forced to look away – Helblindi blinked away tears and tried to still his racing heart. They could not tell Magni the truth, especially so far into their marriage, but the reality was that one day they would seek to bear forth more children. Helblindi wondered how much money it would take to pay off the healers . . . _‘I am afraid your infertility has no discernible cause’_. . .

He clenched his hand until nails dug into his palm, determined to hide lies behind lies, and smiled a smile so sincere in appearance that Býleistr sagged in relief, before he turned and leaned back against the sink with a smile in turn. Helblindi walked over to him and pulled at his leather skirt, which dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. Býleistr . . . so easy to distract, so easy to manipulate . . . it was almost a crime. Helblindi lied with a smile:

“Let us cross that bridge later . . .”


End file.
